Yin and Yang
by Vrele
Summary: HP/DM. I swear I planned this one. Nundae!Harry; Veela!Draco; swearing, slash, random quotes where I can find them, replacement for Made to Be. No one gets sent to Azkaban; Voldiekins is dead. R&R.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **I'll just shut up and not say a thing in the hopes of escaping the yelling that is bound to follow my deleting Made to Be, shall I not? Never fear (okaymaybesometimes), voila the replacement. I doubt it's as good as the original.

**Disclaimer Warning:** Nope. Slash, potential mess-ups.

**Pairings:** Wouldn't you just like to know, hmm? ^.-

* * *

Yin and Yang

(or How One Does Not Mess With Fate. Nor A Nundae. Nor A Veela.)

Harry frowned in his sleep, body curled to fit in to the one tiny bed he had. Apparently, Fate couldn't care less that he was about to turn 17 in a few minutes. He had intended to count the seconds to his birth hour, but had fallen asleep thanks to the chores he'd had to do all day.

Yes, how very fun.

All was darkness behind Harry's eyes. A sky appeared, dark and stormy. A cemetery appeared around him by way of a background, headstones sticking up everywhere. There was no order whatsoever to the place.

A loud cackle sounded from seemingly nowhere; Harry whirled. "Voldemort."

Indeed, Voldemort it was, gliding to him, wand twirling in one hand.

No, seriously. This was all very fun.

"Yesssss, it is _I_, the Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. You people think _I_ don't know what names you give me?"

"Aren't you dead?"

The Dark Lord stopped short. "No I'm not. I feel fine."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Yes you are. I remember it. We were facing off, and then we both said _Avada Kedavra_ at the same time, so the curse was negated, and then you said _Expelliarmus_, and then my wand stabbed you in the heart, and then – "

"SILENCE! I kill you!" Voldemort interrupted; Harry gave him a dry look.

"You're dead. You can't kill me. And before you cackle about your horcruxes, lemme remind you that you were on your last one. And what's with the accent?"

"I'm not dead."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are too. I can't believe –" Harry was about to mutter something about the stupidity of the whole thing, but one cannot exactly mutter properly one is _suddenly floating horizontally off the ground, shrouded in white light_, now can one?

And so Voldemort – or Voldiekins, as people so loved calling him now – was ditched in a cemetery while Harry met his parents.

* * *

When I said Harry met his parents, I meant that literally. The cemetery fell away, and a clearing appeared in his sleep. There was a couple sitting on one of the rocks surrounding the quiet waterfall nearby. Spotting him they came near, and when he could see them he would have jumped if he weren't floating, for they were the notorious Lily and James.

"Mom? Dad?"

"The one and only, bitch! Dattebayo!" crowed his father, until Lily whacked him upside the head. "If you're not going to behave I suggest you shut up or sleep on the couch." She turned to Harry – and about time, too, thought the Boy-Who-Just-Aruged-With-Voldiekins, _because what the hell is happening to me?_

"You're coming into inheritance, honey." The voice of his mother answered his thoughts, "My father's father's mother's father was a Nundae, and the gene skips generations. It's going to be okay, dear."

"Yeah," chirped James, "it's just gonna be hell at first. Actually, it's gonna be hell, period. I read it in a book." Lily shot her husband a death glare, even as they began to fade. _It will be okay, _came Lily's reassurance again. But by then Harry could no longer see them. The clearing gave way to blinding white behind Harry's eyelids, then darkness.

- - - abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz - - -

It was dawn, and the moron freak wasn't up yet. Vernon rolled his mass up the stairs, up, up, pant-pant-pant, up, up, up.

"BOY!" yelled the man, ham of a fist breaking the worn door down with three, four, five 'knocks'. What he saw startled him into silence: the freak stood tall, taller than him, his hair having grown at least six inches. It was up in a high ponytail, secured with a white ribbon (1).

He didn't want to know what happened.

* * *

"Draco, I'll be out on personal business for a while, don't burn down the house!" After the defeat of Voldemort, his mother had definitely become more…_ open,_ mused the Slytherin.

"I'm sorry I have to be out on your birthday, but I'll be back ASAP, okay?" continued Narcissa. _Yes, open, and strangely immerse in Muggle acronyms, _Draco decided.

"Yes, mother – MOTHER do I really have to kiss you, fine, here you go, I love you too, bye!" And the Lady Malfoy swept out, leaving Draco to his devices.

It was half past nine in the evening, which meant that there were three minutes left before he was officially seventeen years old. Already he was bored.

Shrugging to himself, he went to the study – his new favorite room, along with Pansy, who visited often – to pick a book of the shelf. _Julio and Romiette _(2)_,_ read the cover: it was a Muggle forbidden romance novel. For a moment Draco made to throw it over his shoulder, but then he thought _meh, couldn't hurt_ (though of course with a more elegant language), drew up a chair and began reading.

Two and a half seconds ticked by unnoticed to the Malfoy heir, so absorbed was he in the plot already. Two minutes forty-five… two minutes fifty… two minutes fifty-five…

Three minutes. A spasm sent Draco off the chair; upon landing he doubled over.

Now, I am quite close to absolutely sure that none of you have ever experienced a failed attempt to grow wings, but if you have, then you can very well imagine this. The same goes for a tail.

Draco's shoulder-blades hurt like hell. It wasn't the muscles, mind you, but the bones. At the base of his spine there was a sharp jab, a jab that soon grew to be unbearable along with the shoulder-blades.

Then it was over.

Draco stood up, breathing heavily. Something was different about him. He would ask Mother when she came back.

* * *

**End Note: **Meep meep. Brother wants the laptop :P

- ~'Vrele


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Ah, damn. Bro was whining so much I forgot to type the text notes. Here you go:

(1) _high ponytail…white ribbon_: it's not a normal ponytail, it's the (I think) really cool anime-style ponytail that stands up :P

(2) _Julio and Romiette_: EEP just realized I had it wrong. It's _Romiette and Julio_. Book by Sharon M. Draper; don't own it, didn't write it.

**Disclaimer: **You think I own HP? Then what's JK Rowling doing on the book covers? I don't own HP.

**Warning:** Slash. Swearing, maybe. Random bouts of randomness. No smut yet. I ish evil.

**Lazy Reviewer Replies (or LRR) **

Khitomer – aww, thankies :P you're the first person to call my writing fresh, I appreciate it a lot! To answer your question, hehehe…

**

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**Yin and Yang**

The Second Chapter Dictating Why You Don't Mess With Fate. Nor Nundae. Nor Veelas.

Her son had a migraine and Narcissa Malfoy wasn't helping.

"Sorry honey, but I really cannot think why this is happening. You might search in the library; there might be books about this."

Draco so badly wanted to throw a tantrum now. "I've said it before: _**I CAN'T GO IN THE FRICKIN LIBRARY!**_" And this was true. Ever since the episode, the Slytherin couldn't set foot into the room without feeling as if he was tearing apart.

Narcissa sipped her tea (_I'm in a crisis and SHE IS SIPPING TEA! Where did she even _get_ that from! _thought Draco) with the manner of utter indifference that only best friends, siblings and mothers develop. "Very well then," she said after a pause. "I shall do it in your place. Now," she continued, pulling a piece of parchment out of nowhere and waving it, "I received this, so it's time for you to go pack for school." She gave him a grin that was basically ^_^ and, when Draco was (sulkily) out of sight and earshot, sighed deeply.

She wasn't _that_ retarded. Lucius' father's mother's mother's father's father's mother's father's (five minutes later) mother had been a Veela, as an ancient birth diary informed her. She had no idea how her husband, now in Asia, hadn't shown any signs of being a Veela before, but she'd dismissed it as the line fading.

After all, they did that sometimes.

Well, apparently the line was being revived in her son now.

Like hell she was telling him.

…_September 1__st__, 1045 hours…_

"HARRY JAMES POTTER!" came the voice, acutely piercing to his ears the moment he stepped upon the crowded Platform 9¼. Seconds later came a barreling Hermione, throwing her arms around him –

* * *

On the train, Draco suddenly flinched violently. Blaise saw him, wondered briefly if his friend was finally, officially nuts, but shrugged to himself and went back to reading. Damn Pansy and Draco for trying to get him to read something, but this _Romiette and Julio_ was a deceivingly good book… When was Pansy _ever _showing up?

* * *

"You're late!" At that Harry rolled his eyes, earning a smack for his efforts; 15 minutes was, in Hermione's book, two hours. Ron shot him the aw-poor-you-but-you-brought-it-on-yourself look before slapping him on the back. "Yo, mate."

By the time they'd made their way to an empty carriage, Hermione was muttering-slash-grumbling about the importance of punctuality; it was 10:55 am.

"Herm, really, we're five minutes early, calm down." Harry told her. Ron nodded; the brunette sighed and laid her head on Harry's shoulder.

Seconds of silence passed, then she lifted her head, eyebrows knit, and laid the back of her hand upon his forehead. "Harry, why do you have a fever?"

"I don't have a fever."

"Yes you do! Did them bastards leave you out in the rain again? Seriously, I'll commit a perfect crime and dispose of them, really I will–"

"Herm! I don't have a fever!"

"–But before that I might sic fire ants on them before frying their corpses dry and pounding them into powder–" Good Lord, what had she been doing the whole summer?

Ron touched his forehead, making Harry blink. His friends were touchy today. "Herm, Harry feels cold, not warm."

She stopped mid-rant to look at him. "No he doesn't, he's (here she put a hand on his) hot now. I'm feeding their ashes to the dogs." Wow, noted the friends-update part of Harry's mind. Sadistic Hermione – not that he really minded when it was direction at Dursley.

Ron frowned. "He's freezing, Herm."

"Will the both of you stop acting like I'm not here?"

"Sorry Harry." Came both answers together.

-abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz-

The whistle at 11 am sharp could almost have woken the dead. Indeed, it alerted Blaise to –

"Where's Pansy!" he jumped a foot high and turned to press his face against the window.

"Right here, Zabini," said the girl, behind him. Blaise hit his head hard against the bar above him and whined, "Draaaaacooooo, Pansy's being creepy this year! And I like the spikes." He leant over and tugged on one.

"Parkinson." Said the blond dutifully, closed eyes never opening, hand swatting the other's off his head. He was trying to stop fidgeting, and it was getting harder already, without distractions.

"Draco? You all right?" came the voice of Pansy. _Why, why does she absolutely have to be extra-observant today? _thought Draco, and opened his eyes. _Then again, she could help._

"No. No, Pansy, I am not alright." At the twin pairs of raised eyebrows, Draco berated himself for not knowing this was coming. "No one can try to stop uncontrollably twitching at random times and be 'alright', guys."

And he berated himself again, for the same reason, when both Slytherins gave him spill-it-or-we'll-get-it-out-of-you-or-your-mother looks. After that, he spilled. It came out as a huge torrent of words:

"'tthereandIcan'-'tstoptwitchingand I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING TO ME!" It finished with Draco's face in his hands.

Pansy put a comforting arm around his waist and hugged him; Blaise put his around the blonde's shoulders. "You've forgotten us, you stupidhead. We're perfectly intellectual beings capable of helping you out. Now go to sleep, your eye circles are about as obvious as bruises."Draco's head in her lap, Pansy's gaze met Blaise's. Both were full to the brim with utter determination.

The rest of the train ride passed in silence. The Slytherins were unaware that, during Draco's moment of utter despair, Harry had nearly collapsed from the sudden emotion hitting him like a baseball bat. And Harry was unaware that Hermione had glanced at him, and she decided to get down to the bottom of things.

* * *

**End Note: **I can't write anymore. Next chapter will be in Hogwarts.

- ~'Vrele


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **I noticed I haven't updated in forever, so here you go. There aren't as many reviews as I would have liked, have you noticed? o_o I'd like to know how I did for the chapter, please. Surely amidst the 400 + people reading this, _some_ have the time to review? I understand though, the last two chapters are bo-ring; the first ones always are. Anyway, thanks ^_^ a lot!

**Disclaimer: **Nope.

**Warning: **Future slash, random quotes, I think; swearing, maybe.

* * *

Yin and Yang

(Or Yet Another Drarry Story.)

Draco was bored. And nearly sick. The tugging in his gut would have him vomiting into his pumpkin juice if it didn't cease soon, and it _really_ did not look like it was going to stop. The feeling was similar to feverish hiccupping, only ten times worse.

And the frickin' Sorting Hat _would not _SHUT THE HELL UP! Merlin! The blond groaned; Pansy beside him took his hand in her lap and began playing with his fingers. It calmed him down, somehow.

The tugging was still there, though. Draco wanted so badly to go to sleep right there, on the table, but Malfoys didn't do that. For no reason in particular, he glanced toward the great doors, where the Gryffindorks sat. Potter, he saw, looked sick. Draco wondered if Scarhead had tugging in his stomach, too.

The thought vanished when he blinked.

After what seemed like forever to Draco (which was…half an hour in reality) the Sorting was done. Dumbledore had, on the spur of the moment, bellowed "EAT, BIATCHES!" to the Great Hall, and after a moment of stunned silence, everyone was stuffing their faces with roast turkey and cranberry sauce. (Well, except himself, Pansy and Blaise.)

Professor McGonagall ghosted behind him – he knew it was her, because there was suddenly his schedule floating in his face. Pocketing it Draco resumed staring at his plate – his empty, still spotless plate because he hadn't lifted a finger to take anything.

"Anorexic, now, eh Malfoy?" The voice of Potter floated into his ears and hit a nerve. Malfoys did not develop Muggle eating disorders. He shot a glare toward Potter, who now was nonchalantly digging into an imperial roll (1).

His stomach growled, as if in indignation. Getting up, Draco cut a slice of turkey and speared a spring roll (1). He finished the meal in time for them to go to the dormitories.

The tugging never disappeared, but as long as he was distracted, the blond didn't feel the urge to empty his body of its insides.

* * *

Harry Potter was immensely bothered.

All during lunch he had a deeply disturbing feeling in his gut. He couldn't stop noticing that Malfoy wasn't eating. The imperial rolls were really good, though, so it was a pity.

The raven-haired sighed. This wasn't going to be the best of days.

* * *

"Potter, you will pair up with Draco." Severus Snape was on a sadistic streak today.

Murmurs of protest came up from both Gryffindors and Slytherins – the AK47 that was the potion master's death glare shot them down instantly. No one but Hermione noticed when Harry was quiet, but then they had already talked about this on the train.

The Boy Who Lived was going to attempt a truce with Malfoy. (No, it was still Malfoy until the truce was in place.)

Speaking of Malfoy, the Slytherin was visibly annoyed as Harry made his way over. His hair was being shitty ever since his birthday, so he settled for the 'sex god tousled' look. It fell into his eyes; he blew it away. Something bad was going to happen, he knew it. He knew it in his gut. (Which, by the way, was still tugging harder than ever now that Harry was closer, but he didn't notice the second part.)

Severus' voice snapped both boys out of their musings. "We will create a Seeking Potion today. Instructions are on the board. Get!"

Harry got to his feet, but Malfoy had disappeared. The raven-haired found him at the cupboard behind the class, picking ingredients. The Gryff sat down.

When Malfoy was back Harry had laid out the instruments they would need. The blond, he noticed, kept his head down the whole time, not even lifting it once to give him an I-hate-you-stupid-plebian glare. He also looked sick, which was strange because Harry was rather queasy himself.

Then came the dreaded stirring. Harry hated it! Usually he would be the one to do it, because Neville, bless him, was utterly incapable of differentiating clockwise from counter. But as this time wasn't _usually_, Harry found himself deprived of a spoon within nanoseconds.

"I need a distraction," he heard Malfoy by way of explanation, and then the boy was stirring.

"Very well," he sat back, and watched the pale hand make shapes in the translucent, turquoise liquid with the spoon. _How he has such long fingers, I honestly have no idea – _did I just wonder about Malfoy's _fingers?_

A tall shadow appeared on his table then. Harry very nearly screamed like a nervous girl in a horror movie. "Potter, Draco. You will demonstrate your work. Fill two vials and get moving." (Snape really liked the word get.)

The Gryffindor did as told, filling a vial and passing it to Malfoy, then another for himself. The blond looked, for the first time, like he just wanted to get the class over and done with.

Do you have any idea how rare a _Slytherin_ wanting a _Potions _class to end is?

"The Seeker Potion allows the drinker to effectively find that which he or she is looking for. It is to note that only a blunt knife must be used to cut the hogwart –" here Snape's AK47 death glare came again into action at the pun "– so that it highly potent magic is toned down. If a sharp knife is used the magic will be brought to its highest and backfire. The only potion that –"

The suddenly still body on the floor interrupted the potions master. Draco had downed the entire contents before a pale Harry could stop him. But something had wiped the indifferent sourpuss look off of Snape's face: The full-fledged dragon wings protruding from the Slytherin's back, its scales glinting a metallic dark blue and silver.

"Professor! What happens when a sharp knife is used?"

"… … Potter, bring Draco to the infirmary."

* * *

_Malfoy Manor, about ten minutes prior:_

Narcissa Malfoy gave up. "Darién!"

_Crack._ "Yes, Mistress?"

"Bring some Fire-calling powder, if you please."

"Yes Mistress." _Crack, crack. _"Here you go, Mistress. Is there being anything else, Mistress?"

"No Darién, thank you. You may go." _Crack._

"DUMBLEDORE!"

The Headmaster was sucking on a lemon drop. Narcissa swore the old coot (affectionately) was addicted to the Muggle-made things. Anyway, he nearly choked on the candy. "NARCISSA! Will you _quit_ catching people unawares!"

Narcissa sneered teasingly then became serious. "Draco is a Veela."

And Dumbledore nearly choked again on the sweet.

* * *

**End Note: **Tell me how I did? I neglected History for this. Thanks ^_^ I still love y'all even though no one reviews -.-

- ~'Vrele


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